On warm, windless nights after rain, the fields shimmer faintly — not from stars above, but from countless fireflies below. They drift and blink, their bodies pulsing with soft green light, as if the darkness itself were breathing.
To an untrained eye, these flashes seem random. But to another firefly, every blink is a word. They use bioluminescent signals — tiny chemical reactions in their abdomens — to communicate. Each species has its own rhythm and frequency, a pattern that acts like a secret code. Males signal through flight; females respond from the grass. What looks like beauty is actually a language — one made of light.
Scientists have studied this phenomenon for decades. Some fireflies synchronize perfectly, lighting up entire forests in unison, as if time itself is beating through them. This coordination has puzzled researchers, yet perhaps its meaning isn’t purely biological — it’s communal, even spiritual.
There’s something deeply humbling in watching them. Their glow is fleeting, their lifespan short, yet they spend it lighting up the world around them. Maybe that’s nature’s way of reminding us: you don’t need noise to be noticed — sometimes, silence that glows softly in the dark is enough.
bhaskar saikia 
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